


in heat

by misskatieleigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post Season/Series 02, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-05
Updated: 2007-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:31:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskatieleigh/pseuds/misskatieleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He means to agree, means to nod his head and smirk at her odd phrasing. Means to pour himself another shot and drink down the pressure and swirl of blood quickly pounding south. Means to get up and move out of her space, out of the circle of heat spreading out from where her hip touches his under the table.</p><p>Dean Winchester means to do a lot of things these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in heat

**Author's Note:**

> set post season 2, written ages ago, just moving things over from my livejournal

Dean sits in the corner of a bar in the middle of nowhere. His shoulders settle heavily against the ripped vinyl of the booth, a beer sweating cold condensation down his fingers and onto the dusty floor. An empty shot glass sits on the table in front of him, sticky residue of tequila circling the base. He hasn’t touched the glass in over an hour now, the beer in his hand full save the two sips he had taken to chase the sharp bite of tequila down his throat not long after. Sweat rolls down the side of his face, lingering at the set of his jaw, two days worth of beard to sort through on its path south to soak into his stretched thin grey t-shirt.

His eyes are on Sam, have been since they got here. Sam who looks like he was never gone, like he was never laid out cold and empty while Dean broke apart inside. Now, he’s supposed to be whole again, supposed to forget how empty the world was without his brother in it. Supposed to forget how Sam will be faced with the same thing only a year from now. Sam seems happy though, dimples carved into his face as he flirts with the bartender.

Their roles are reversed somehow, now that the weight of yellow eyes has been lifted off of Sam’s shoulders. The deadline’s a year out and the set of Sam’s shoulders says that he hasn’t lost hope yet. Sam leans close, lips brushing against the girl’s ear as she blushes bright pink across her cheeks and the exposed skin of her chest. Sam’s smile has always lit up the room and opened doors that Dean’s charm never stood a chance of touching, and now is no different.

Dean watches Sam for a second longer, finally tearing his eyes away from his brother as the seat shifts beside him. Truth be told, he’s been in Sam’s back pocket since the second he tipped his head back and breathed again, and he’s going to burn himself out far sooner than the year he’s bargained for if he doesn’t let up a bit. If he doesn’t let out some of the energy building up in his veins from hunting non-stop across three states he might flame out before he has a chance to start on all the things he wants to do before his time is up.

He can tell its Ellen; no one else would dare approach him with the layer of dirt covering the set of his shoulders. Even under the choking weight of moist hot air the contact is welcome. Her voice is just as whisky rough as always, steady hands pouring more tequila into his glass.

“You gonna drink that beer, sweetheart, or marry it?”

She doesn’t wait for his answer, stealing the bottle out of his hand and tipping her head back as she drinks. Her hair’s pulled back into a ponytail, different than he’s ever seen her because of the stifling heat of the place. It’s July in Texas and the air conditioner’s broken in the only bar for forty miles, but the beer is cold and the demon they were chasing is back where he belongs for the time being.

Dean thinks about putting his wet fingers against that long line of neck as she drinks, thinks about curling his hand around that ponytail and using the salt of her sweat to set up his next shot. He wipes his hand across his jeans instead, the dust over denim changing to wet streaks of dirt across his palm. Ellen wipes at his hand with a napkin, smearing the dirt into his skin more than wiping it away, a noise of indignation in the back of her throat.

“You need a damn shower, Dean. Ain’t nothing but dust and devils in this godforsaken town.”

He means to agree, means to nod his head and smirk at her odd phrasing. Means to pour himself another shot and drink down the pressure and swirl of blood quickly pounding south. Means to get up and move out of her space, out of the circle of heat spreading out from where her hip touches his under the table.

Dean Winchester means to do a lot of things these days.

Instead he just kisses her, licks the taste of tequila and cheap ass beer straight from her mouth. Slicks a demanding tongue across her teeth and palate until he’s drunk from the taste alone. He’s not sure when he moved, but his hand is curled around her throat now, palm print of dirt against her skin where he had wanted to touch with cold fingers a moment ago. Where he wanted to draw a mark of himself into the pulse skittering harsh and fast along her veins, blood thinned by alcohol only rushing faster.

His hand finds that heavy ponytail, tugs her head back until his teeth scrape along her jaw, leaving a wake of red fading to pink hidden under the flush and tan of her skin.

“I need more than a damn shower, sweetheart. If you’re offering, that is.”

Something flits across her eyes, thoughts of her daughter in his bed maybe or that she’s some sort of consolation prize since Sam’s working the only other woman in the room who doesn’t look like her mom and dad are brother and sister. Dean holds her gaze, eyes sure as he looks at her, trying to say something that would be far too revealing to ever slip from his mouth. Finally she nods, leaning forward to press a far sweeter kiss against his lips and pushing him up and out of his seat. Sam and Bobby are watching, Bobby’s jaw dropped open like he’s catching flies but Sam just grins, slaps Bobby on the back with his hand and turns them toward the dartboard hanging haphazardly from the wall.

“Come on now, Bobby. Loser buys the next round.”

~ * ~ * ~

The lights at the motel are dim, the one in front of their door blown out. They’re set up side-by-side, Bobby and Ellen in one double and Sam and Dean in the other. Dean parks out in front; leaves the motor idling as he reaches over and kisses her again, pushing her back into the leather of the seat. He wants her right here, soaking her wetness into the seat so his car will smell like her for days. The rumble of the engine shivers up his spine, adrenaline rush pulsing thoughts of fucking her at a hundred miles an hour along the deserted stretch of highway. He thinks about her head in his lap, holding on to that ponytail with his fist until he can release all this pent up energy down her throat in one hot pulse. Dean’s got a million mental images of how this is going to go down, but Ellen’s got a plan of her own, breaking out of the kiss and tugging the keys out of the ignition.

“Stop thinking so damn much, Dean. If you’re a good boy, I’ll spread my legs for you right on the hood of this fuckin’ car, but I need a shower first.”

Now Dean’s got a million and one images running through his head.

He kisses her one more time, tugging her bottom lip between his teeth as he palms one breast, testing the weight of her with his hand. He moves to her neck, sucking at the skin just behind her ear, voice dipping deep and smoky.

“Wanna fuck you nice and dirty, baby. What’s the point in getting clean if you’re just gonna have to shower again after?”

Ellen smirks a little at his choice of words, but Dean can feel the hitch in her breath. The air outside the car crackles, lightning flashing across the sky in the distance. Before Dean can even comment again, the rain is pouring down in sheets, leaving them scrambling to crank the windows up to keep the flood outside.

Ellen’s hand is on the door still, lips curved into a mischievous grin. “You ready to make a run for it?”

Dean’s never been one to turn down a challenge.

~ * ~ * ~

As soon as the door is shut, Dean’s got Ellen pressed up against it, shirt rucked up under her arms so he can run his palms up the curve of her waist, mouth open over the already soaked cotton of her bra. The heat of his mouth seeps through the coolness of the rainwater. Dean reaches up with one hand, two fingers pulling the cup of her bra down to expose her nipple to his mouth. He suckles at the tender flesh, swirling his tongue around until she’s whimpering in the back of her throat.

He slips a hand south, tugging at the button on worn jeans and pushing the denim and the cotton hidden underneath to the floor. He wants to take his time, spend hours memorizing every curve of tanned skin and the scent of her heavy in the air but it’s been too long and he’s too worked up at this point to do anything but _take_. Dean strips out of his shirt, pausing with his hands on his jeans as Ellen pulls the elastic from her hair to fan out across her shoulders, climbing up on to the bed on her hands and knees and presenting her cunt to him like an animal in heat.

Dean shoves his jeans off, toeing off boots and socks until he’s left in nothing but boxers and his own sweat. He runs his hands up the back of her thighs and over the smooth curve of her ass, appreciating the view and the offer, but he has something else in mind.

“Not like that, sugar. I want to see your face when I’m inside you.”

Pushing at her hips, Dean flips Ellen over onto her back, dropping to his knees on the floor at the foot of the bed. He guides her legs up over his shoulders, tugging her back until she’s laid out under his mouth, flushed pink and glistening wet in the dim light.

He brushes his cheek against her thigh, two day old stubble leaving a trace of red up the inside of her leg, his thumbs pressing inside the silky wet heat of her cunt. Dean rubs his face in further, chin across the hard nub of her clit with a sweet burn of pleasure laced with the sharp sting of coarse hair. Ellen gasps, thighs tightening like a vice against his head, pulling his mouth down to open over her. Dean laughs, a low chuckle that vibrates out from her center before lapping the length of her slit with the flat of his tongue.

“Always wondered what you’d taste like.”

Ellen keens, low and approving as his thumbs push further inside, fingertips digging into the flesh of her ass as he splits her open with hand and tongue. He can feel every muscle in her legs go tense, hips jerking out of rhythm as she floods slick and wet across his face and down his fingers.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that.”

Ellen’s limbs are liquid, molding to his touch as he pushes her up on the bed so he can get his knees up onto the mattress, the thick length of his cock held firmly in the fist of his hand. She shivers as he rubs the head against her, clit hypersensitive from orgasm even as she pulls out of the haze of release.

“Come on baby, don’t be a tease now.”

Dean grins, eyes feral and wild as he lets go of his cock and uses both hands to spread her knees wide and push them up toward her chest. His cock bobs against her, head slicking through the wetness smeared across her cunt and down her thighs. He leans forward, pressing the breath out of her body and kissing her with the taste of herself still thick on his tongue, one hand fumbling across the top of the nightstand to find the crinkle of foil.

His cock slips up and then back as he moves, the shaft slick with wetness as it drags down her slit. Ellen arches up, hands wrapped around the back of her knees to hold herself open while Dean stops to roll latex over his length. He strokes himself once, smiling as Ellen’s eyes track his hand, lip bitten white between her teeth. He pushes her hands away, coaxing her knees up over his shoulders again and surging forward to seat himself inside her, hips flush against the back of her thighs. The angle is tight, her clit rubbing against the coarse hair trailing down toward his cock. She bucks up, hips opening to take him deeper, heels of her feet pressing into his shoulder blades.

His eyes never leave hers, blown wide and dark, a sliver of green visible around the ring of his pupils.

Dean can feel her flexing around him, muscles contracting as she comes. His rhythm stutters, caught in the tight clamp of her convulsing around him. Dean pulls out as she goes limp and sated, stripping the condom off and stroking his cock with fingers dipped in the slickness of her release. He comes with a low moan, hips jerking forward to paint her skin in white streaks, one hand braced on the curve of her hip leaving fingerprint evidence in its wake.

Dean collapses beside her, nudging her fallen open thighs out of the way of his body. “Now you need a shower.”

Ellen laughs, the sound as whisky rough as her voice, sending a shudder down his spine. “Well, all right. Let’s go cowboy.”


End file.
